Longing for Closeness
by bella-thedarklady
Summary: As the Dark Lord's Horcruxes are destroyed and he is left with one soul, he slowly reverts back to a human with a conscience and emotions. Bellatrix's love for him has remained throughout, but now there's a chance he'll finally notice. Eventual Bellamort.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey, anyone! This is my first time writing fanfiction, so go easy on me. I absolutely adore Bellatrix & loove Bellamort so I figured I'd roll with this, but realized I have NO idea how to write as Voldie. So... crap. But I would really appreciate comments & critiques, I'll keep writing it if I get a few people that like it!_

_Let me know what you think!_

The burning pain drove them away. Their aura remained in the background, ready to haunt her at the slightest chance, but the fiery blasts of physical agony kept her alive. It could only be a matter of time before the pain turned into a steady, dull sting, constant and lasting immortally. For now it only existed in a few temperamental bursts, but it could only be a matter of time.

The first time it happened, the pain had been so sudden and severe that Bellatrix had sprung to her knees and thrown herself against the bars of her cell, as though expecting to see him there in the flesh. Her flickering, bottomless black eyes found only Dementors swarming closer to her cell, sensing that a fresh taste of happiness had become available.

Without the power to stand, she retreated, crawling, to the furthest corner of her cell. She could not, would not allow them to devour this glimpse of hope. From then on the burning on her arm had been her salvation. She tried endlessly to coax it into more severe pain, but found it difficult to do anything other than nurture it, caressing and tentatively tasting the distorted, once-beautiful Dark Mark on her arm. She smothered it with her body when she slept, gracelessly curling herself around her arm and tricking herself into believing the blessed pain throbbed in time with her tortured heart. She would mold her arm further into her chest, reveling in the closeness to him it simulated.

The shouts and cries from the neighboring cells confirmed it all. It wasn't in her mind; they felt it, too. Their screams must have been their recognition to the darkening blotches on their arms, and this wondrous pain that seared her flesh could not be mere wishful thinking.

More than a few times she heard her name amid the hoarse voices that scratched her ears, calling as though attempting to find her. She didn't waste her minimal energy on replying. All that mattered was her Lord, and he would not have to call and search blindly; he would know which cell she was in. And he would speak to her in his clear, precise voice that made Bellatrix shiver and curl into a ball and grin, eyes alight with transported glee, whenever she thought of it.

She remembered the way he said her name - _Bella_. Not like the other man that shouted for her, whose voice was vaguely familiar but unimportant in the light of her new thoughts. His lips would momentarily disappear to form the B, and then reappear along with his clipped voice that was forced to carry out the E, spending an extra moment on the vowel, just for her, because he was speaking to or about her. Then she would catch the faintest glimpse of his tongue when he reached the Ls. The thought of it made a giggle escape her clenched teeth and she nibbled her arm, for his tongue was much too pink and normal and revealed that he was human. It made him seem vulnerable and made her seem more intimately closer to him when his tongue appeared in her name, and she wondered if he had noticed how her eyes would linger hungrily on his mouth whenever he spoke.

But that moment would dissolve as he approached the final letter in her name, and she relished in the memories of the upward inflection he put on the A when he had called her. She imagined him saying her name as she lay there in her dank cell, curled in a ball with her pounding arm nestled in her chest. Her heart giggled irregularly alongside her, fluttering feebly at the thought of her name on his lips, sounding it out slower and slower so she could tremble in recognition of every detail of his face as he spoke. She imagined how his lips would, for a brief moment, accidentally give himself away, possibly twitching upward in an instant that would not be lost to Bellatrix's eyes that burrowed themselves in his mouth.

Time was of no relevance to Bellatrix Lestrange, as making note of it and holding onto her remaining sanity would be like holding onto a fistful of water. Every time she bit her Mark she willed it to hurt more, for the more it burned, the closer she felt to her Master. She knew he was out in the world, alive, physically visible, tangible. The more it burned, the safer she was from the Dementors. Her Mark seemed to work like a Patronus, stirring up long-lost, blissful thoughts and memories that Dementors were no match for.

A sudden noise brought her back to reality after almost a year of curling up around her arm and escaping Azkaban by delving into her newfound memories and the fantasies they created. The noise was low and pounded on her eardrums, and giant bricks that had made up the wall flew out of sight for a moment the scene was foreign, but Bellatrix quickly recognized that several explosions were bursting the prison around her. Dull moonlight momentarily scorched her eyes and she shrieked, a sound that seemed to tear her parched throat.

Yells sounded all around her as the explosions continued. The now visible moon reflected off of the ocean beneath her, shedding more light into her cell. Bellatrix looked up from under her matted, gnarled curtain of dark hair, her left hand following the buried instinct of fumbling for her wand, forgetting as she always did that it had been confiscated. Black shadows scurried, hunch-backed and clumsily scrambling to catch their balance, against the faint light.

The man's voice was calling her name again, and with a painful leap of her heart, Bellatrix heard someone quietly mutter in reply, silencing the first man. Bellatrix's mind supplemented the new voice with lips and an indecently pink tongue.

Her barred wall sported a gaping hole, and she was sure she would find him just outside it, but it was much too far for her to crawl; but even as her body whined in protest, Bellatrix was dragging herself across the filthy ground, for she must see him, for it was real and he was here and she must show him how loyal she had been. She had stayed alive specifically for the day she could rejoin and surpass the rest of his rankings; surely he would reward that effort.

The crouched figures ran on, more numerous now, and Bellatrix imagined them falling to their knees and thanking him desperately she must be there, she must prove her worth...

The crowd of running colleagues disappeared from sight, and Bellatrix realized it was because someone had entered her cell and blocked them from view. She slowly lifted her head to see him and could not stifle the gasp that escaped her.

He was tall, so much taller than Bellatrix remembered, and had unreal, porcelain white skin. There was no trace of luscious chestnut hair, and his nose was flat against his face, more snakelike than human. Red eyes had already found her, boring holes into her, burning through the darkness.

Bellatrix's breathing had quickened, but she could take no notice to herself. He was here, standing before her in his new body, and it was almost too much for Bellatrix to handle. She could no longer muster the strength to crawl and collapsed, still gazing at him, trying to drink in his presence. He had transcended his previous, normal body, he had achieved something inhuman. In this new vessel he could not be ignored, he had proven that he was not tethered to the death all others were destined to meet. Bellatrix had never seen anything more beautiful.

"My Lord," she breathed, hardly daring to believe it was real even as the Dark Mark seared her more powerfully than before. She hadn't spoken the words in what seemed like eternities, but they were inexplicably so very right. "My... my Lord, I always knew you would return..." Half of her words were only mouthed, her voice so unaccustomed to being used. "I always knew..."

He spoke, and Bellatrix felt her eyes sting with emotion. "Your devotion has been proven on many occasions." She watched his new lips form words, feverishly memorizing their foreign movements that went along with the familiar voice. He spoke softly, but Bellatrix could no longer hear the shouts of the eagerly escaping Death Eaters, and clung to every word.

Her face flushed, it was too much to handle all at once. She had waited and dreamt for this day to find her, but she was not at all prepared for how everything would come together at once and found it difficult to stay in control of her emotions. Trembling feebly, she reached out a hand to find the hem of his robes and kiss them, but the barred wall of the cell had not become any more accessible than a few moments ago. "Thank you, my Lord," she whispered instead.

"Now come, your husband wishes to see you."

Bellatrix's mind reeled. "Husband?" The ring seemed tight around her finger. In a sudden wave, a memory returned to her of a thin silver ring being placed on the thinner finger, and she had looked up into his eyes, but in the memory he was entirely faceless. _Husband..._

"We cannot waste time. Come with me."

She stumbled into a standing position, clutching the cold, wet wall for support. She slipped once and glanced again at her Master, desperately wishing to not appear pathetic, not after he had personally entered her cell to ensure she was alive and was surely counting on her to be capable of carrying out tasks in the future. He stood still, his new face impassive as her emaciated legs struggled under her little weight. Finally, tears of frustration leaking from her black eyes, she brought herself up to a standing position. Voldemort, apparently satisfied with her ability to stand, turned to leave.

On her insecure way out of the cell, Bellatrix stumbled over the broken bars of the opening. Her knee seared sharply in pain, and with a sharp intake of breath Bellatrix doubled over, knee shaking. Voldemort turned, and after a moment called, "Rodolphus."

A man with grizzled dark hair appeared at his side. His strong jaw and cheekbones jutted outward, and his beard was untamed and overwhelmed his emaciated face.

"Your wife."

Rodolphus' eyes widened and recognition sparked behind them. "Bella," he said, and she recognized his voice as the one that had began calling when the Mark burned. His name was familiar but he was otherwise indistinguishable to her.

"Bella," he said again, and roughly took her arms to help her up. Bellatrix growled and attempted to brush him away, and he instantly let go, staring at her like a clumsy child watching a fragile, injured animal it was trying to figure out how to aid. Once she made it over the broken bars, out of her cell, she looked up into his face. In that moment she could see his eyes on the otherwise faceless man in her memory of the wedding.

"We're free," he mumbled, and his face twisted into what looked like a painful grin. More gingerly this time, he took Bellatrix's small hands in his. Both pairs of hands were shrunken and bony, but Rodolphus easily closed his hands around hers.

"Free." She said the word experimentally. She turned away from the man she had been told was her husband and found her Master standing close by, watching the others as they clambered out of their cells and into the small boats waiting at the entrance below. Even when looking in the opposite direction, he must have noticed her gaze, for he turned as though she had called him.

"I knew you would come back," she said in a hushed voice. It was very important that he heard this; he needed to know how much faith she had had in him.

"Yes, Bella," he replied evenly. "And Lord Voldemort rewards those who remain loyal. But for now, the boats are waiting."

For a moment she was frozen. She stared at his mouth, unsure she had just heard or seen what she had dreamt about for so long. "Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix replied breathlessly when she found herself again. "Thank you, my Lord."

As Rodolphus led the way to the boats, another man now beside him who they had discovered was his brother, the final stragglers caught up with them. Bellatrix's mind hardly comprehended what was happening as she settled herself in one of the boats with the two Lestrange brothers. It swiftly began carrying them away from the place that had, over fourteen years of living there, claimed the majority of her looks, memories and sanity. She wasn't thinking about the fact that she would never have to return, or trying to piece together broken memories with her family.

All she could think about was the way Voldemort had said her name. Bella. It was just as she had imagined when this day arrived. She giggled quietly to herself, looking down at the rippling water. Even though he had a new body, somehow, his tongue was the same.

_Reviews are love!_


	2. Chapter 2

Pale eyes were rimmed with red on pale skin beneath pale hair. At first Bellatrix thought her to be a delicate specter. She uncomfortably shifted her footing in this sterile mansion, very aware of the marks of grime and grease her clumsy bare feet had left on the pristine tile. She blinked and squinted as her eyes attempted to adjust to the light coming from the glass chandeliers reflecting off of the ground. Cautiously she tilted her head upward against the glare to catch another glimpse of the woman, a ghostly halo of gleaming blond hair braided around her head. Each moment that passed, Bellatrix's first impression only seemed to be confirmed; surely she was hallucinating and just couldn't open her eyes to see all of the details of the woman that swam in and out of her vision.

Her downcast eyes sought the bare feet and hems of comfortingly black cloaks her comrades beside her wore. Surely they were still real, though? Her beetle-black eyes ventured further upward from under her tangled mass of hair and found the face of her Master, standing impassively. Yes, it must be real.

"Is that… surely she's not…" A fragile, feminine whisper floated cautiously in the air. After being condemned to years of darkness, the chattering of the wind against trees her only consistent companion, Bellatrix could hear the skipping of her heart from across the room.

The voice of her Lord broke into the wispy silence of the stuttering woman and the convicts' breathing. "This is Rabastan."

The dainty voice made a sharp intake of breath, frantically wishing not to but already recognizing where the list would end. "Rodolphus, and Bellatrix." A pained squeal erupted from the woman's pale lips. Before Bellatrix could look up and between her strands of hair at the blurry image of the woman, her sister had crossed the space of the room and wrapped her thin arms around her, trembling terribly and simultaneously squeezing the air out of her lungs.

"Bella… Bella…" Even her voice seemed pale, growing steadily weaker and desperate as her shaking grew stronger. Her voice was muffled, her glossed, silky lips nuzzled into Bellatrix's shoulder. "You're here… Bella, I thought… I thought…"

She suddenly felt her own limbs begin to shake, for reasons unbeknownst to her. Her eyes remained wide and glued to the floor while Narcissa's squeezed shut and leaked the unanswerable questions and sickening worries that had accumulated for fourteen years. Hope flooded back into her hollow shell of a body.

Bellatrix was momentarily caught off balance, having practiced the art of stifling her emotions from the public long before her years of hardening in Azkaban. While her sister hiccupped and gasped through her subdued sobs, Bellatrix could not help but notice the tiny drops that trickled down her filthy face and into Narcissa's hair. Her heart seemed heavy, weighing down to the pit of her stomach with some obscure emotion Bellatrix had no name for. Her arms slowly wrapped around Narcissa in return, and she heard her cracked, decayed, torn voice saying, "Hush, Cissy, it's alright…" Her clawed hands greedily clutched her younger sister, caught between an unstable balance of loving and enviously coveting her pretty hair, her healthy face, and her undiminished youth. Her chipped fingernails raked through her smooth blond hair.

Narcissa's feeble whispers were puffs of air against Bellatrix's wild, matted dark hair. "How did you… You were there for so long, how…"

With a rush of pride, Bellatrix's lips trembled as they restrained the words from all being spoken at once, and took care to say them each individually. "The D-dark Lord," she whispered back into her small ear, decorated with its own crystal and sapphire chandelier. "He saved me."

Bellatrix felt her sister tentatively pull away. Her watery blue eyes – wide like her sister's, but prettily so, without being sunken into her skull and bulging – found Bellatrix's stone eyes. Narcissa held her sister at arm's length, and Bellatrix's fingers unconsciously intertwined themselves between hers as they gazed at one another. "No," Narcissa said, blinking her fair lashes. "How did you…" Her voice lowered, but cracked nonetheless. "Survive? For all that time?"

Bellatrix could only continue to stare at her. Clearly she hadn't understood that that was the question she had just answered. Instead, she formed the words, "You look beautiful, Cissa."

A flicker of a smile lifted the corners of Narcissa's lips momentarily. "Th-thank you, Bella. You…" She paused, pastel eyes gazing timidly at her sister's cavernous cheekbones, her withered bare arms, and the filthy Azkaban uniform that hung off of her emaciated frame. With an attempt to regain her smile, she finished, "We'll clean you up, too."

"I can trust," interjected a precise voice, whose lack of emotion cut through the air like a razor. The two sisters dropped each other's hands as the Dark Lord as he continued, "That you will be capable of housing the three of them?"

Narcissa's gaze jerked upward to face him. "The… three?" She seemed to notice the awkwardly standing brothers for the first time.

"Yes, Narcissa, the three of them."

"O-of course. Yes, of course we are." Bellatrix watched with vague interest as the color drained from her sister's face, but her attention was much more intently directed on her Master as he formed words that brushed through the air past her, stirring her heart and caressing her ears like music.

"You are, for some reason, doubting my ability to ensure that the Ministry shall not be able to detect them if they search your house?"

"Not at all, no, my Lord." The last two words seemed to sting her tongue as they left it.

"Lord Voldemort knows when he is being lied to, Narcissa."

"My Lord," came another voice, followed by important, practiced footsteps and the rustle of a billowing cloak. Lucius hurriedly entered the hall, clenching is walking stick and removing his hat. He flinched and halted momentarily at the sight of the three dirt-trailing, wanted convicts in his pearly hallway, but saw his wife's worried face turned to silently plea with him, and he crossed the rest of the space between them and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Ah, Lucius, back from work just in time," noted the Dark Lord idly.

For once skipping the pleasantries, all too aware of his wife beside him attempting in futile not to tremble, Lucius said, "My Lord, we will be honored to house our family who has served you so honorably. We trust entirely that you will see that no harm comes to any of us for doing so."

Bellatrix watched his gaze quiver about the room as he spoke, trying not to look his Master in the eye. Without meaning to, and hardly aware that she even did so, she let out a mad burst of giggles that echoed about the hall, bouncing off of the glimmering walls, ricocheting to the ceiling and dancing about the clinging candles in the chandeliers.

Obliviously having caught everyone's attention, she stared at Lucius almost expectantly, waiting for him to continue speaking and thus amusing her with his charade of bravery. He opened his mouth with a haughtily arched eyebrow to address her, but after a dark, red-eyed glance, everyone in the room, including Lucius, was able to peacefully ignore her outburst. She continued humming to herself, unmindful.

"I'm glad to hear it," responded the Dark Lord, smoothly interrupting and thus silencing Bellatrix. "The next time you shall see me, I shall be planning the next attack."

Lucius voice was hoarse. "Of course, My Lord."

A smile twisted their Master's lipless mouth. Bellatrix was intrigued. "Change is quickly approaching us, Lucius. We will strike as soon as they are able." His thin eyes indicated the three hunched, broken people at his side. "It is convenient that, for the time being, the Ministry does not believe I exist. Take care to ensure this does not change… until I have gained enough power. Then I will be undeniable."

"Yes, my Lord," responded Lucius. His hushed voice was hardly audible above the strain it was under to keep it from cracking.

The Dark Lord nodded once, the vague, maliciously amused smile still curling his mouth. He turned and left, black traveling cloak trailing elegantly behind him, strikingly like a serpent as it glided and then whipped around the corner.


End file.
